


1868

by PaperCities



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 1800's AU, ;), Akaashi is smexy!, Falling In Love, Farmer Daichi, I'm still trying to figure out what Oikawa is, Kozume Kenma & Kuroo Tetsurou Friendship, M/M, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Samurai AU, Samurai's son Hinata!, Scribe Suga, Sex, Sexual Content, Shogun's son Kageyama, Teaboy Yams, all the sexy shit in fanfics nowadays, bokuto is a war hero, soldier Tsukki! :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-06-09 00:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6881761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperCities/pseuds/PaperCities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 1868, Japan's shogunate faces many challenges. </p><p>Can six couples withstand these obstacles, or will they crumble just as history does? A shogun's son and a samurai's son, a scribe and a farmer, a tea boy and a soldier, a prostitute and a general, a writer and a samurai, and a concubine and a warrior. </p><p>Sex, drugs, and war make dangerous components in the lives behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy in Rags

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, I was watching the "Last Samurai" and the "Memoirs of Geisha" and....viola! I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> First things first, there is a lot of history going on! Some of it may be right, some of it may be wrong. Please correct me if I'm wrong! I would appreciate that! 
> 
> Also, if anything ever gets confusing, ask me! I don't bite! 
> 
> Lastly, there are warnings for a reason, especially when we get to the BokuAkaa story. It's brutal in their romance, so....... there will be sex, there will be war, there will be the loving~ 
> 
> So, if you're not too terrified, please read on! 
> 
> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Suggestions? Feel free to contact me! :) :) <3

1868

Part One: Forbidden Fruits

 

                His steady hands drew the arrow fully onto the bow, notching it perfectly perpendicular to the rich yew wood of the long bow. Taking a deep breath, he calculates the speed and direction of the wind, and releases it. The slap of the string on his forearm is rejuvenating, and he looks up to see the arrow has hit dead center.

 

The boy hops off the platform and runs to retrieve it, his bright ginger hair contrasting the autumn grey skies.

 

                It finally rains, after holding back for a long, humid three days. He hurries into the dryness of his home, allowing his servants to take his outer robe, and he pads his way to his father’s study.  

 

                He knocks, expecting his father to answer. On the third knock, he slowly peeks his head through the paper sliding doors, and frowns when he sees his father by the window.

 

                “Oto-san?” he calls out in a low voice. His father doesn’t face him, still, rather, he holds up a hand as a sign of silence.

 

                “Hush, Shouyo, come here,” he whispered, voice weary. Hinata Shouyo tiptoes over; glad his socks masked his steps across the hardwood.

 

                “The rain is so lovely this afternoon.”

 

                It was an odd thing, coming from the mouth of a man who hardly ever had time to notice the slightest changes in his home.

 

                Hinata nods, just to side with his father, yet, he can still sense the tension.

 

                “Oto-san, what is wrong?” he tries, softly. His father signs, and turns to his son, eyes dim. He sits at his desk and pours two cups of matcha into ceramic cups.

 

                “The war, my son. The samurai have turned against the shogun.” He doesn’t touch his tea, doesn’t even move to take it. Hinata stumbles to kneel in front of his father, eyes wide, hands gripping his sleeves.

 

                “What?! H- how can that be? The samurai, they’re sworn to the shogun!” he forced his words out with some trouble, the words leaving his mouth in a jumble. “What about us, are we not samurai as well?”

 

                His father seems suddenly aged, his shoulders sagged, and body much more fragile.

 

                Hinata looks at him in alarm. “Oto-san? What are we going to do?”

 

                “I don’t know, Shouyo, I don’t know.”

 

 

XXX

 

 

                Tokugawa Tobio watched as his father held the meeting with several delegates, his eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed with concentration. He couldn’t believe his luck. At age 18, he achieved what many would call grand victory; he was to claim the title as emperor.

 

                He hates, he hates his mother for dying and leaving him here, he hates his father’s persistence, he hates the nobles, and he especially hates himself for being the shogun’s son.

 

                Why him, of all people? During this time of war and uprisings, they need a strong ruler; not an eighteen year old child who couldn’t even put on the right robes in the morning.

 

                He is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to run, to hide himself somewhere nobody knows. He wants to leave and never come back. Like his mother did to him, like everyone else who left him alone in this cruel place.

 

                His father, the Shogun, the iron wall of Japan, stands and bows to the advisors. The man rushes by him, not even sparing him a glance. Once again, he is reminded of how little this court cared for him. If he was to become the emperor, the Americans would seize control.

 

                It was nearly midnight by now, and Tobio dragged himself through the halls and towards his room. He shuts the door and falls onto the tatami futon.

 

                In the darkness, he can finally gather his thoughts. No servants loiter in his halls, with strict orders from the Shogun to stay out of Tobio’s way.

 

                He hates being called “Tokugawa Tobio”. He’d rather be called “Kageyama Tobio” after his mother’s maiden name. But being the prince of the kingdom of Japan has its downs.

 

                Can’t he just have the one thing he wishes for? Was it too much to ask for? To see the countryside and live among the fireflies?

 

                He falls asleep, unaware of the streaks of salt running down his cheeks.

 

 

XXX

 

 

                In the early morning, Hinata runs down to the market square to pick up an order of herbs for his mother; she needed it to prepare a new ointment for his father. It was raining, again, so there were fewer townspeople than usual.

 

                After thanking the medicine man, he was about to hurry back home when he hears a rather loud commotion coming from the heart of the market.

 

                Pushing past the several people who gathered to witness the event, he sees the strangest sight.

 

                “What’s wrong, pretty boy? You are a boy aren’t you?” There were four American soldiers cornering a frightened looking boy in rags. By his father’s requests, Hinata had taken English courses, so he was able to understand the men.

 

                The first thing Hinata noticed about the boy was that he had startling aquamarine eyes and hair as jet as the Kyoto night sky. What was strange, however, was the paleness and tenderness of the boy’s skin; he was obviously not from the working class. Then, why, why did he wear such rags?

 

                One of the soldiers was tugging at his yukata, trying to reveal his shoulders. The townspeople watched in bewilderment, all too afraid to speak up. The boy was putting up a fight, he was not by any means considered small, but against these foreign men, he was no match.

 

                As if on instinct, Hinata jumped in between them, holding a hand out to push back the advancing men.

 

                “Stop! You cannot do this to him!” he practically yelled, trying to keep from trembling at the utter masculinity of the soldiers.

 

                “Excuse me? Who are you to tell us what to do?” Another one of the men asked eyes ablaze.

 

                Hinata couldn’t back down, no matter how afraid he was, it was in his blood and family honor.

 

                “I am the son of the Samurai noble of this provenience, Hinata Shouyo! If you persist on treating my people like animals, then I will not hesitate to treat you like one!” he announces voice loud and clear.

 

                In the corner of his eyes, he sees the blue eyed boy’s eyes widen in shock.

 

                The men glance at his katana, strapped to his side and back away, muttering curses.

 

                Hinata turns and finds that the boy was already half way down the hill.

 

                “HEY!” He runs after him.

 

                By the lakeside, he catches up, pulling the boy’s fragile looking arm. It surprised Hinata when the boy yanked himself away, face written with fury.

 

                “I don’t need your help!” The raven was on the verge of yelling at him. He stormed away.

 

                Hinata followed, brows furrowed in anger and confusion.

 

                “Hey, you! I helped you! You could at least say a ‘thank you’!” He hollered, running after him.

 

                The boy turned on his heel. “Don’t. Follow. ME!” Then, he continued down the hills, following the flow of the river.

 

                Hinata ignored him. “What kind of person doesn’t thank someone for saving them?”

 

                The taller boy let out an infuriated sound, sprinting through the rain, not caring about the mud that began to cling to his clothes.

 

                “Can you just stop and think about it? Where are you going anyways? It’s cold and rainy? Have you even eaten anything yet?” Hinata was still a good person, even if he had just helped someone and they were grumpy old, ill mannered people.

 

                “I told you! I don’t need--!”

 

                The boy slipped on a wet rock and fell into the river. Hinata was sure he didn’t know how to swim, so he jumped right in after him.

 

 

XXX

 

 

                They sat under a little alter by the river, shivering and trying to dry their clothes. At least it wasn’t raining on them now.

 

                Hinata was miserable. Not only had the herbs been soaked, he had wet the leather of his katana sheath. If this kid didn’t tell him a ‘thank you’, he was going to go berserk.

 

                “I—thank you,” the boy muttered in a quiet voice, as if he had never said those words before.

 

                Hinata huffed, “You owe me twice. TWICE! I’m going to get yelled at by my mother, do you know that? She’s going to look at me; all disappointed, and say ‘Shouyo, all I did was ask you to do one thing for me’. What I am supposed to say?”

 

                The raven’s face turned red, and he looked away hurriedly.

 

                Up close, Hinata noticed the subtle hints of nobility on the boy’s body. Aside from the soft skin, there were the earrings, firstly, because only the nobles wore earrings. And such fine ones, he wore. Hinata’s were only golden loops, but the boy, he wore ones with glistening blood red stones.

 

                Then, he had anklets, and Hinata could tell they were imports from the Middle East. They hung with tiny droplets of pearls and semiprecious stones. Thank the gods they were well hidden when the boy was wearing pants, someone would have surely stolen them.

 

                Speaking of pants, they both sat on their robe sashes, waiting for them to dry and the rain to subside.

 

                “What’s your name anyways? I don’t want to have to keep calling you ‘Hey’,” Hinata brought up.

 

                After a moment’s hesitation, the boy replied, “Kageyama Tobio.”

 

                Hinata’s eyes widened. “Tobio?! Wow! You’re named after the Shogun’s son! That’s so COOL!”

 

                Kageyama looked up. “Oh, yeah? Do you know what the prince is like?”

 

                Hinata shook his head. “No way! I’ve never met him! But I heard people say—.” He leaned in. “—that he’s a real oddball.”

 

                Kageyama looked ready to blow. His voice came out too calm to be calm. “Oddball? How so?”

 

                The smaller boy shrugs. “I don’t know. I just hear he’s unsocial and weird. My father doesn’t let us talk about the shogun and his family. We have a tradition to respect him.”

 

                “It’s good to know there are some people who still care about us…” Kageyama muttered.

 

                “What was that?” Hinata asked, leaning in closer.

 

                “What was what, you dumbass?!” Kageyama punched the other on the head, scowling.

 

                “Ow ow ow ow ow OW! Ok, mercy!” the ginger tried to tug his hair back.

 

                Out of nowhere, a growl sounded.

 

                “Ehhh? Is somebody hungry?” Hinata teased, only to regret it when his own stomach growled a second later.

 

                The villagers saw two young boys, half dressed, one running from the other, towards the food stands.

 

 

 

               

 

               


	2. The Boy Who Witnessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talking from inside the room grew louder, as if all the parties were becoming increasingly angry. Suddenly, the young male slammed his hand down on the table to silence the room.
> 
> “Tokugawa-sama, I understand what you are saying. Let me just ask you once more, is you decision ultimate?” He asks, enunciating each word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY ALL! Thank you to anyone, and everyone, who commented or supported this story!   
> It means a lot~
> 
> Here is the new chapter! Please enjoy!   
> As always, comments? Suggestions? Questions? Concerns? Feel free to contact me! 
> 
> Also, tell me if my history is ever wrong! ;)  
> If any of y'all are aware, I'm trying to update all of my stories, so feel free to check them out! 
> 
> P.S. Happy early Fourth of July!   
> LOVE YOU ALL!

 

 

 

 

1868

Part Two: To Take a Home

 

                The embers in the ashes flickered as Sugawara Koushi sat down in front of it, using a fan to try to ignite them back to life.

 

                His brows were furrowed, a delicate crease on his pale skin. He puffs at the stubborn embers, willing his hands to move the fan gently.

 

                The flames flared to life. He let out a triumphant “Ha!” and stood to return to his writing desk, and resumed his seiza position. He picked up his brush and wet the ink,

 

_In the cicada’s cry,_

_There is no sign that can foretell_

_How soon it must die._

XXX

 

 

                By mid afternoon, he goes to make himself a cup of tea only to find that there were no tea leaves left in its place in the cabinet. Peering into his food supply cabinet, he realizes he had forgotten to pick up groceries at the village yesterday, in his haste to come home from the snow.

 

                He sighs, pulling on his outer robe, and slipping his feet into his pair of extra warm socks. He misses the empress, back when she used to send him gifts weekly, as gratification for him being her son’s tutor.

 

                She was a lovely woman, all blue eyes and light hair, an intellectual woman, who ruled practically next to the emperor. It had been hard when she passed away, and Suga remembers seeing the young prince in tears daily.

 

                He slips into his geta, and silently walks down the palace halls. The gold furnishings gleam in the soft wintery light, reflecting the warm irises of his eyes. He passes servants, who bow respectively at him, after all, the high position of scribes were to be taken seriously.

 

                In quick steps, he leaves the palace and crosses the high gardens, overlooking the village beneath them.

 

                The winter breeze was brutal, blowing rain into his scarf and down his collar. Thank the gods he had put on two extra robes. His umbrella was almost useless against the rain.

 

                The guards at the main gates smiled as when they saw him, and opened the heavy doors to let him pass. Suga smiles back, inclining his head in acknowledgement.

 

                The town was quiet today, most people preferring to be indoors, sheltered from the harsh weather.

 

                There was a commotion at the arc of the marketplace, and as Suga finishes purchasing some fruits, he wanders closer.

 

                The first things that catch his attention are the blue eyes of the boy in rags.

 

                He’d recognize the color anywhere, it was the young prince. Suga opens his mouth to tell the soldiers off, but someone intervenes before he can.

 

                Hinata Shouyo, the son of an extremely loyal family of samurai. Suga’s heart swells. He makes a mental note to send something as a sign of appreciation to the family.

 

                He watches as the young boy threatens the foreigners away, and contemplates dragging Tobio back to the palaces, but stops himself when he notices the red around the boy’s eyes.

 

                Of course he’d be pressured, with everything occurring in his life, Suga was surprised he hadn’t cracked yet.

 

                Once again, he lets out a sigh and heads in the opposite direction of the two boys. He could only hope that Tobio knew to be back before dinner.

 

 

XXX

 

 

                The Yamaguchi teahouse sat humbly on the edge of the town, next to the clear river. Willows that grew on the side of the hill shadowed the house in soft glows of sunlight.

 

                Suga inhaled the aroma of tea leaves growing in the soil. He loved the atmosphere of the place, and he was glad that the king trusted him to fetch the tea every week.

 

                He hoped the tea maker’s son was present; he had brought some translated books to share with the young man.

 

                He walks up the steps to the front doors and knocks. _Tap tap tap_. Three slow taps exact to inform Yamaguchi-san of his arrival.

 

                When the older man answers the door, he invites Suga in hastily, smile warm. Tadashi takes his outer coat, a shy smile on his face.

 

                Suga makes small talk with the older Yamaguchi, informing him of the King’s weekly preference of tea.

 

                This week, for instance, it was the Da Hong Pao, an extremely expensive thousand year old leaf tea.

 

                “An impressive choice,” Yamaguchi- san comments, serving Suga a cup of rich Mugicha. The hot beverage warms his stomach and he shudders at the sensation.

 

                “Very much, indeed, the emperor seems to be craving warmth, especially since the weather has been cooling,” he replies, trying to rub the warmth back onto his nose.

 

                Tadashi was indulged in a script translated by Suga- the One Thousand and One Nights.

 

                Suga’s eyes softened at the sight of the youth curled up by the fireplace, resting his chin on his slender wrists.

 

                Tadashi was such a darling. Suga has a faint suspicion that it is the reason why Yamaguchi-san doesn’t allow him to go out. He’s afraid of the foreign soldiers, their crass behavior towards anyone deemed “pretty”.

 

                Suga bends over on his seat and lays a transcript down, in Tadashi’s line of sight.

 

                “This one is ‘Dream of the Red Chamber’,” Suga says, voice soft and tender. “I think you might like this one, it’s about the Qing Dynasty of China.”

 

                Tadashi’s smile it toothy, dimples adding to his gentle youth.

 

                “Thank you, Suga-san!” He says. “I’ll treasure this one.”

 

                Oh my lords in heaven! He’s so cute!

 

                Suga brightens, huffing in pride.

 

                When Yamaguchi- san comes back from behind the tea storage room, Suga stands to take his leave.

 

                Bowing low, he accepts the tea with a thanks. With a final pat of Tadashi’s head, he turns back to the palace.

 

The rain blew heavier, and Suga wishes that Tobio had worn something warmer. What if he caught a cold?

 

He made his way through the partly shaded woods, preferring the shortcut more than the other way, despite the eerie forest.

 

Out of nowhere an arrow shot past his head and into the tree beside him. He turns, eyes wide and gasping.

 

“Oh, my bad!” The voice was almost monotonous, and it pissed Suga off more than it should have.

 

A raven haired man stepped through the trees, wearing a simple blazing red robe. His hooded eyes and curved lips drove Suga insane.

 

“Oh! Hey, Suga!”

 

Kuroo Tetsurou emerged, wrapped in his god awful sex appeal and hunting robes.

 

“What are you doing, hunting so close to the village?!” Suga screeches, hugging his poor vegetables to his chest. “You could have killed me!”

 

Kuroo winced, yet continued smiling.

 

“Sorry,” he walks up, closer.

 

Suga huffs a sigh, calming his heart.

 

He wonders how Kuroo has been, ever since—.

 

Ever since _that_ , he hasn’t been the same. He hasn’t come down to the palace enough, hasn’t smiled genuinely.

 

He feels a cloth on his cheek. He looks up to see Kuroo dabbing at it.

 

“You’re bleeding,” was his answer.

 

Suga bites his lip. “How are you?”

 

Kuroo stops, momentarily, enough for Suga to notice.

 

“It’s been good, there’s just been a lot going on,” he relies, pressing firmly on the cut. Suga guesses he can’t feel it because of the cold.

 

“I meant how are _you_ doing, not how’s _it_ going.”

 

Kuroo halts then, letting out a sigh.

 

“I’m fine, Suga.”

 

The silver haired male does not believe him one bit.

 

“Still brooding alone in darkness every night?” he asks, deciding to just throw it on Kuroo.

 

Dark eyes narrow, then morph into something sultry.

 

“Not when you’re with me.”

 

Suga scoffs. “That was one time.”

 

Kuroo pulls back. “But you enjoyed it.”

 

Suga gives him a confused look. “And?”

 

“You’re not denying it.”

 

“No, because that’s what we call lying, Kuroo Tetsurou. Something you always do when I ask you questions.”

 

Kuroo’s grin softened.

 

“This is why I love you.”

 

Suga pecks him on the cheek.

 

“Love is a very strong word, love.”

 

He leaves Kuroo standing there, jaws dropped.

 

 

XXX

 

 

The moment he steps up the palace doors, he knows something is wrong.

 

The guards give him a stern look, as if telling him to keep his guard up. He gives them a nod before heading to put his items down, so he could go visit the Shogun.

 

Quietly moving across the tatami mats, he collides headfirst with the main advisor, Ukai.

 

“Suga? What are you doing here? The Shogun ordered no one to be around here until after the meeting was over! Go translate some scripts,” Ukai whisper yelled at him. “Go!”

 

Suga nodded, heading two halls down, before coming back to see if Ukai had gone in.

 

There was no one in the hall, so Suga crept closer to the occupied room.

 

He heard the emperor’s voice, along with the advisors.

 

He slid the shoji door open slightly, just enough to peek through.

 

So many important people sat inside, discussing the revolts in many villages.

 

A tall, young looking male sat across from the Shogun. He wore royal maroon robes with jet black trim.

 

How regal he looked, how stoic and intimidating.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

A voice from behind startled him.

 

Long, ornate robes and jewelry so delicate only the royal family could own.  Oikawa Tooru peers into the room with him.

 

Well known for being the Shogun’s most prized concubine, Oikawa stirred up quite the news for the kingdom. His origins are unknown, perhaps even by the emperor himself, but many say he was the son of a notorious samurai who was forced to commit seppuku.

 

Suga had questions, everyone had suspicious, but who was he to say anything?

 

Being the royal scribe, he was just slightly higher in the caste system, yet the charisma of Oikawa made him seem nothing less.

 

“I don’t know,” Suga says. “I don’t think he’s from this reign.”

 

Oikawa scoffs. “Well, obviously, sweetheart.”

 

Suga grinds his teeth. “Of course, darling.”

 

They wrestle for the best eavesdropping spot.

 

The emperor was speaking.

 

“The foreigners will not be allowed in Japan, and that is final.”

 

Oikawa drew a sharp intake of breath.

 

“What? What are they saying?!” Suga glanced at him.

 

Oikawa shoved Suga over, crowding the slit by himself.

 

“It can’t be!” He was muttering. “Why would he be working with them?”

 

Suga rubbed his head, where he collided with the floor from Oikawa’s shove.

 

“What in the world, Oikawa?!?”

 

Their whispering was fierce.

 

“Why is he here?” Oikawa blinked as if trying to see through an illusion.

 

“Who?”

 

The talking from inside the room grew louder, as if all the parties were becoming increasingly angry. Suddenly, the young male slammed his hand down on the table to silence the room.

 

“Tokugawa-sama, I understand what you are saying. Let me just ask you once more, is you decision ultimate?” He asks, enunciating each word.

 

The Shogun nods. “Yes.”

 

The man nods, and Suga sees him reach behind him.

 

It’s too late when he realizes what is about to happen.

 

Blood splatters the Shoji doors, and Suga cries out in alarm.

 

They seize Oikawa as Ukai shoves Suga, yelling for him to run.

 

Screams fill the palace.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOW WAS IT?!?!?!!?
> 
> Yay or nay? ;) XD


End file.
